Six
Tabitha
S omething I rarely tell anyone: I hate snow. I know! Why would I stay in a place that has so much snow? Because my family lives in Central Colorado. Kilt Valley is my home. It’s easy enough to buy heavy winter clothes and never venture outside from the months of November to April, except to travel between my apartment and the bookstore.
Earlier today, I learned that the addition of Liam makes me like something I hate as much as snow. Plus, I got a bonus in the form of being able to watch him do his thing. It’s unbelievably sexy to be with a guy in his element. Yeah, I snowboarded because he’s that good of a teacher. But the real treat was watching Liam after I begged him to show me how it’s done.
The man has mad, crazy talent. You can tell he loves snow.
And now we’ve done something meaningful together. Twice. Reading for me, snow for him. It’s been a thoroughly enjoyable few days, and I kind of got the impression Liam might think so, too.
Possibly I’m projecting. But he certainly doesn’t act like this favor is a huge chore. Or that he thinks of me as Lyra’s friend and nothing more. It just doesn’t feel like practice. It never has.
Then there was that moment when he said almost the exact same thing to me that I said to ShreddingPages. Coincidence. People use those phrases all the time. But still, it knocked me for a loop. And then got me thinking in whole new directions.
Normally I would never have the nerve to text a guy, especially not one who has women throwing themselves at his feet on a daily basis. But this is different. He’s still my romance coach. He doesn’t have to know that I might be using our sessions as an excuse to see him.
Tabitha : Don’t think that snowboarding-slash-body language session gets you out of your obligation tonight
Liam : ummm what?
Tabitha : You threw in an extra session. You still owe me one tonight. It’s in the rules.
Liam : I thought you were going with the flow and not sticking to the plan
Tabitha : That’s exactly why I’m cooking you dinner. It’s a thank you for the free lesson today and yes, I asked Lyra how much you charge. I probably need to repeat this about fifty more times to feel like we’re even.
The exchange fills me with exhilaration because I did it. Maybe I am learning how to be more confident. If this coaching idea actually leads me to true love and gives me the gumption to talk to my dad, I’ll be delirious with happiness.
Liam leaves me hanging long enough that I think he’ll say no. He should say no. We already had our session today and he’s probably busy. So maybe I’m not leaping over tall buildings after all.
But then he texts to ask for my address and puts me in such a tailspin that I can hardly figure out what to make. I may have oversold my cooking skills by a large margin, especially if Liam expects to feel thanked by the endeavor.
In the end, I call my mom who puts me on speaker as she goes through her recipes. She grills me for a solid five minutes, but I refuse to give up the name of my mysterious dinner guest. Finally, she sighs and walks me through an easy alfredo dish that goes with chicken and white wine, first date musts because there’s nothing that stains.
I don’t correct her about it being a first date. It’s not. At best, I’ll use Liam’s proximity to bask in his glorious presence and participate in my coaching session like a woman who needs all the help she can get.
When he knocks on my apartment door, I’m not dressed yet. I mean, I’m wearing clothes, but not what will be my final outfit. I have a somewhat precarious plan that will probably backfire, but Liam changed the dynamic with the impromptu snowboarding lesson. I can throw some curve balls too.
When I swing open the door, Liam’s gaze cuts down to my sweatshirt and leggings. “Am I early?”
“Not at all.” I step aside to let him in, not realizing how much energy he would bring into my apartment that never felt so small before.
But four mere walls cannot contain the force that is Liam MacLellan. I might be overly sensitive to him after discovering how much I like his hand spread across my back. For the record, a lot.
“So, um…hi,” I offer, my inability to come up with scintillating conversation never more apparent. This is where I would normally stare at the floor and wish for it to open up so I can climb into the convenient hole. But I cooked up this scheme, no pun intended, now I have to put it all on simmer.
“Hi.” Liam tucks his hands into the back pockets of his pricey jeans, the kind that look like they’re custom-made specifically to complement the deep blue color of his fisherman’s sweater.
He’s not wearing a coat, so I can’t take it from him in order to give my hands something to do. So I guess I have to just blurt it out.
“I need you to help me pick out my outfit.”
Liam’s eyes flare but he schools his face quickly. “Because you want to dress like a skiing instructor?”
I laugh, but it comes out sounding as nervous as I feel. Everything is off now because I admitted to myself that Liam and I have moved way beyond romance coaching and into something else. On my side, at least. I’d like to say I’m the kind of woman who could run with an opening, but I’m still standing here in sweats with messy hair, so you do the math.
“It’s a coaching session,” I explain as if this should make perfect sense to him. “About how to dress so that a man will know I care. That I made an effort. For when I meet ShreddingPages under the mistletoe. In three days. You know, assuming he says yes.”
And assuming I actually get up the nerve to contact him. Could go either way since I'm starting to question why I wanted to in the first place. But I can't tell Liam that. I would lose his attention immediately.
“Oh.” Liam vices his forehead with his thumb and forefinger and massages his temples. “Maybe my taste is different than other guys.”
I shrug. “Have to start somewhere. My closet is this way.”
In my bedroom. Which I have never been in with a man before. Before you start thinking—judging—I’m not quite that pathetic. There was that crazy time in college. Of course, that was when I realized I’m not cut out for casual dating and also not cut out for serious dating. So. Here we are.
“I have three dresses that I picked out,” I say. Croak, more accurately.
Liam is in my bedroom, casually glancing around at the approximately nine million books that spilled over from the living room shelves. Immediately, he walks over to the corner bookcase that I picked up in Aspen at a little shop that handmakes these adorable pie-wedge-shaped pieces that fit snugly into the niches of a room. My favorite titles edge the shelves. It’s fascinating to me that he chose that to focus on out of everything in my somewhat chaotic room.
His fingers slide across the spines and he stops at The Giver . Pulls it from the shelf. Opens it and runs fingertips over the words.
“It’s a kid’s book,” I explain meekly, though I probably didn’t have to since he pulled it from between Ready Player One and The Westing Game .
“I know,” he murmurs. “I love this book. I forgot all about it and seeing it is like this flash of…something deep inside that’s always been there. Recognition. That sounds weird out loud, sorry.”
If it’s weird, then we’re a matched pair because that so perfectly describes how I feel about him . Right now. In this moment. It’s like something just clicks.
“Not at all.” My voice is low, in keeping with the reverence that drapes the room. “Keep that, then. It’s yours. I want you to have it.”
He glances up at me. Sharply, as if he can’t quite believe what I’m saying. “I can’t take your book.”
“I can get another,” I say with a small chuckle. “Job hazard. But I can’t give you a different copy. This is the one that evoked such a strong reaction. It has to be this one that goes with you. Consider it part of repaying the favor I owe you for coaching me.”
I close his fingers over the book and press it to his chest, which of course means I’m way too close to him. I don’t step back, as previously instructed during snowboarding. There’s a crackle in the air between us and I can tell he feels it too.
I wish he’d cover my hand with his. Pull me closer. If I knew how to signal that I want him to, I would. Maybe standing in his space is enough to communicate that I’m into him.
“Thank you,” he says simply, staring at me. “I would have gotten here sooner if I’d known party favors came with dinner.”
The reminder startles me back into reality. He’s here for a coaching session. Not a charged moment over a shared love of books—which is not a thing. Liam MacLellan skis. I read. He’s probably just being nice about me shoving a book in his hand that he didn’t even want.
“Dinner. I have to cook. And get dressed. Maybe not in that order.” I’m stumbling over my words as I scramble to find the dresses I pulled from my closet earlier.
“Tabitha.” He says my name so quietly that it filters into my blood, both slow and delicious. “You don’t have to do anything. I’m here for you .”
That stops me in my tracks. “Yes. You’re doing me a huge favor and dinner is meant to be a thank you. So is the book. I wish I had something better to offer you, something that would be more fitting with the magnitude of how much you’re helping me.”
Though it occurs to me that I would be in a much different place at this moment if his coaching had actually given me confidence. I haven’t even gotten up the courage to say a single word to ShreddingPages about meeting, let alone reconcile how strongly I want Liam to wrap me in his arms and…
I better not finish that little fantasy. Not when he’s a scant foot away, still watching me with his gaze darkening as if he’s picking up on my train of thought.
“Everything you do is perfect,” he tells me with utter sincerity. “Including how you dress. You don’t need to wear anything special. The woman in the outfit is the star of the show.”
Blinking, I stare back at him, looking for the catch. “You’re thinking like my anonymous online crush, who probably doesn’t care, which I appreciate. But if it didn’t matter, I’d be attracting men like flies. Alas, they are not beating down my door.”
“Good,” he says a little fiercely, clutching the book tighter to his chest. “They’re all missing out.”
What is happening here? Does he mean that he’s glad he’s not missing out? Or that it’s good because ShreddingPages will benefit from the clear path? It’s like I can’t sort one vibe from the other.
Which means I default to changing the subject, not quite able to look at him. “Meanwhile, I’m still wearing a sweatshirt and I haven’t started dinner, so I’m not winning any gold stars. At least tell me which dress you think looks good on me.”
I hold up two, the ones I like the best, my nerves bouncing around all over the place. Liam shakes his head, snagging both dresses and tossing them on the bed along with his book. Then he does the one thing guaranteed to render me speechless.
He pulls me into a hug.
He’s warm and big and solid. My bones liquefy. My cheek mushes against his soft sweater and I inhale his clean scent. This is not a sanctioned romance coach activity. I shouldn’t be sucking up this experience so thirstily except I don’t think I can actually move.
“Tab,” he murmurs. “If I’ve done or said anything that made you think you’re not crushing this assignment, I’m sorry. You’re only as good as your teacher. I have to confess that I haven’t been trying very hard.”
“What?” I pull back to meet his gaze. That’s literally the only thing he could have said to get me to voluntarily break that embrace. “You’re the one crushing the assignment. It’s all your experience with women, I’m sure.”
I snowboarded for crying out loud. That was all Liam and also, that activity hadn’t made my list. He just seems to know what I need.
Liam shuts his eyes for a beat, clearly struggling with something. More than anything, I’d love for him to see me when he opens them. To push aside all pretense and tell me that none of this has felt like practice for him either. That he’d rather die than pass me off to another guy in a couple of days.
But he doesn’t say any of that. Instead, he says something far more profound.
“I really like the book, Tab. It’s the best gift anyone has ever given me.”
The look on his face lights me up inside. “Merry Christmas, Liam.”